Wicked Witch Murder

by Leslie Meier

  And before Lucy could get her car in gear, Rebecca had backed out onto the road and was gone. Neat trick, thought Lucy, wondering where Rebecca had learned to drive. Her own driving, she admitted, tended to be erratic, mostly because she was trying to do so many things while she drove. Right now, for example, she was calling the office on her cell phone to let Ted know what she’d found out about Malcolm Malebranche.

  “He wasn’t just a magician—he was a high priest in the Wiccan religion. Diana Ravenscroft says he was the head of her coven, you know, those folks who had to be rescued from the forest fire. She said they thought he was in England, that he always went there every summer. Anyway, she’s promised to tell me more about him, but first I have to get her some stuff so she can work a special protective spell because evil is afoot.” Lucy let out a big sigh. “I can’t believe I’m actually saying this stuff.”

  “Listen, whatever works,” said Ted, chuckling. “Stick with it and get this story. It’s hot stuff.”

  “Bad pun, really bad,” snapped Lucy, ending the call.

  Chapter Seven

  Lucy didn’t know what to expect at Diana’s shop. She doubted very much that the reporters would still be gathered there; they wouldn’t waste time hanging around when it was obvious Diana wasn’t home. But then again they might, and there was a real likelihood that Ike Stoughton or his sons might be keeping an eye on the place, hoping to confront Diana. But when she did a slow drive-by to assess the situation, she found it deserted, although there was clear evidence that somebody had been there: a large pentagram had been sprayed on the lavender door in thick black paint.

  Lucy took care to park her car at some distance from the shop and walked back, peeking out from under her umbrella and watching for trouble. However, when she approached the little shop, nobody seemed to be out in the rain except her. As she drew closer, she saw the sodden ground was littered with takeout wrappers, probably dropped by the reporters. Once she stepped on the porch, she discovered a couple of windowpanes had been broken. Peering through the window, she saw rocks lying in the display area. Probably the work of some of the town’s dimmer youth, stoked by a few beers, but distressing evidence that public sentiment was turning against the witch, she thought, unlocking the door. Stepping inside, she found mail that had been shoved through the slot in the door lying on the floor. She picked it up after propping her dripping umbrella against the wall. As she gathered the envelopes, she found some letters that had not been delivered by the postman—they had no stamps or address, only the single word WITCH crudely scrawled in angry red capital letters.

  One wasn’t even in an envelope but was simply folded in half, and she was unable to resist the temptation to read it. The message was short and to the point: BURN NOW OR BURN IN HELL. The author had thoughtfully illustrated the letter with an amateurish drawing of red, yellow, and orange flames. Lucy quickly refolded the paper, wishing she’d never seen it, wishing she could throw it away and be rid of it. It made her feel queasy, and she desperately wanted to wash her hands, as if she could wash away the hate and anger. Increasingly uneasy, she quickly searched the store and made sure it was empty. It was, except for Piewocket. She found him hiding under the counter, tucked into a dark corner behind a trash basket. She gave him a little scratch behind the ears, but let him be for the moment, hoping he’d come out of his own accord.

  Stuffing the mail into one of the lavender bags with the shop name, SOLSTICE, printed in gold, she gathered the things that Diana had requested. Diana had also asked her to bring some clean clothing, so Lucy had to go upstairs to the apartment. She climbed the stairs reluctantly, not exactly sure what she was afraid of. The sound of rain on the roof grew louder as she climbed the stairs.

  But when she opened the door to the cozy little studio that was tucked under the sharply peaked roof, she found everything in order. The door opened to a basic kitchen area, with a counter and a couple of stools where Diana probably took her meals. It was very clean and neat. A row of glass canisters held staples like whole wheat pasta, oatmeal, and beans.

  The living area contained a daybed with iron curlicues, neatly made with a purple coverlet and a number of brightly colored pillows. A big bentwood rocker and an old wooden trunk that served as a coffee table completed the furniture arrangement. A small bookcase held a number of books on witchcraft. A chest of drawers stood next to a closet, and a tiny bathroom with a claw-foot tub was tucked behind. Lucy found a big tote bag on the closet shelf and filled it with basics: underwear, T-shirts, shorts and jeans, a comfy hoodie. An empty cosmetics bag was in the tote, and Lucy filled it with the herbal shampoo, face cream, and deodorant she found in the bathroom—all products she’d seen downstairs in the shop.

  When she finished packing and went back downstairs, Lucy found herself in a bit of a quandary. Piewocket had emerged and was sniffing at some broken glass on the floor. She didn’t want to leave him, but she wasn’t at all sure that Libby would welcome a feline guest. She quickly taped some of the Solstice bags over the broken windows in an effort to keep the rain out, then decided to tackle the cat. Noticing Piewocket wore a collar, Lucy cut a length of ribbon and fastened it like a leash. The cat didn’t seem to mind being touched, so Lucy scooped him up and tucked him under her arm and stepped outside, making sure the door locked behind her. Then she hurried down the street as fast as she could go with the squirming cat and the tote bag and the umbrella, eager to get back to safer territory. She was out of breath when she reached the car, yanked the door open, and tossed the bag inside. Still holding the cat, she seated herself in the driver’s seat, setting Piewocket down on the passenger seat. He seemed content to sit there, but she tied the ribbon the door handle so he couldn’t wander around the car and get underfoot. Then she was off, cruising down the street, keeping an eye on the cat. It was only when she reached the stop sign on Main Street that she began to relax, realizing she had a decision to make.

  She could go straight home and deliver the witching supplies to Diana, or she could go back to the office, where there was plenty of work waiting for her. It wasn’t just her strong work ethic that made the decision easy—it was also the fact that if Diana had the supplies, she would undoubtedly use them, and Lucy didn’t want her girls to take part in any spell-casting. But when she arrived with the cat in tow and told Ted about her errand, he was all over her.

  “You have to write it up,” he said. “It’s a terrific feature story. ‘My Bewitching Houseguest,’ something like that. Readers will love it.”

  Lucy was horrified. “No!” she protested, putting down a bowl of water for Piewocket, who ignored it and focused his attention on Ted, rubbing his face against his legs. “Diana’s got enemies—her shop was vandalized—I don’t want them painting pentagrams on my house!”

  “She’ll be back home by the time the story comes out,” said Ted, picking up the cat and setting it in his lap. Piewocket half closed his eyes as Ted scratched behind his ears. “And your story will show that Wicca is completely harmless and that there’s nothing to fear from witchcraft, right?”

  “Are you crazy?” asked Lucy. “This guy who I now know was a witch was burned alive in the woods, I find a note that tells Diana to burn now or burn in hell, and you want me to write a puff piece on witchcraft? I don’t think a cute story about casting spells to get rid of poison ivy is going to change anybody’s mind, and I sure don’t want some loony thinking that I’m allowing a witch to cast spells in my house.” Lucy paused for breath. “And I have kids. I don’t want my girls getting involved in this stuff.”

  It was then that her phone rang, and she snatched up the receiver. The caller didn’t wait for her to identify herself.

  “Ike Stoughton here,” he began. “I’ve got a problem with your girls.”

  Lucy’s heart sank. What were they up to? “What exactly—”

  “They called my girl and invited her to a spell-casting.”

  Lucy could hear the anger in his voice—anger she shared. “T
hat’s outrageous,” she said. “I absolutely agree with you. When is this, uh, event supposed to take place?”

  “I’m not sure. They were going to call back with the details.”

  “I will talk to them,” vowed Lucy. “They had no business involving Abby—.”

  “Is it true that witch, that Diana woman, is staying at your house?” he demanded.

  “Well, yes,” admitted Lucy.

  “Your home is your castle, and I can’t tell you who you can have as a houseguest—”

  Lucy didn’t like the way this conversation was headed. “That’s right.”

  “But I have to warn you that she is a very dangerous woman. You’d be wise to make her leave.”

  “Thanks for the advice,” said Lucy in a curt tone.

  “I’m just warning you,” he said. “I’d hate to see something bad happen to you or your family.”

  Lucy felt her hackles rise. “Is this a threat?”

  “No, absolutely not,” said Ike. “I have your best interest at heart.”

  “Point taken,” said Lucy, ending the call.

  “What was that all about?” demanded Phyllis, who, along with Ted, had been listening to every word.

  Lucy was trying to sort out her emotions, a complex tangle of anger, disappointment, and fear. “It’s Ike Stoughton, warning me about Diana.”

  “Did he threaten you?’ asked Ted.

  “Not exactly,” said Lucy. “He says not but it felt like a threat. And after what I saw at Diana’s place…”

  “You have to write this story. It’s the only way to let people know they have nothing to fear from Diana,” said Ted. Piewocket had settled in on his lap and was purring, sounding like an idling engine. “The sooner the better. I’d like it for Wednesday. So mote it be.”

  “What did you say?” demanded Lucy.

  “So mote it be. It’s just an expression I picked up from Pam. It means—”

  “I know what it means,” said Lucy, booting up her computer. “It means I’m working for a warlock.”

  When Lucy got home around five that evening, she went straight to the family room, where the girls were watching TV.

  “What on earth were you thinking? Abby’s father called me—very angry—because you invited Abby to this spell-casting.”

  The girls glanced at each other; then Sara spoke. “We thought she’d want to be part of it.”

  “I’m sure she would, but her father has other ideas.” Lucy paused. “She’s already in trouble because of the Midsummer thing. Now you’ve made it worse for her.”

  “We didn’t realize…,” said Zoe, shamefaced. “She said she couldn’t come, anyway, ’cause her mom is sick and needs her.”

  “Are we still having the spell-casting tonight?” asked Sara.

  “I’m afraid so,” admitted Lucy, going back to the kitchen.

  She was pulling the frying pan out of the cupboard when Diana came scrambling down the stairs to greet her. The poison ivy had spread, and she was covered with sores that made the least movement painful. “What took you so long?” she demanded. “I’ve been waiting all day!”

  “I have a job, you know,” replied Lucy, rather self-righteously.

  “Did you get my stuff?”

  “It’s here, right here,” said Lucy, handing over the bag. “And I’ve got your cat too. He’s in the car. I wasn’t sure how the dog would react.” A sudden burst of barking sent her outside, where she found Libby jumping and barking at the cat, who was calmly perched on the back of the driver’s seat. Lucy managed to drag the dog away and confined her in the garden shed. Then she carefully lifted the cat out of the car and carried him into the house.

  Diana was looking in the bag. “Where’s the jasmine? And the power oil?”

  “They weren’t on the list you gave me,” said Lucy, handing over the cat and taking off her jacket. Something thunked against the wall as she hung her coat on the hook, and she reached inside the pocket, finding Rebecca’s solution. “I do have this stuff that Rebecca Wardwell gave me, though.”

  Diana took the bottle and unscrewed the top, sniffing it suspiciously. “I think I better rely on my own magick,” she said, handing it back.

  Lucy set the bottle on the windowsill behind the sink. “Is there any chance that I could watch you cast the spell? Ted wants me to write a story about Wicca for the paper.”

  “I suppose that would be okay,” said Diana, cuddling Piewocket. “Midnight is the most auspicious hour.”

  “I don’t think you should wait that long,” said Lucy, rinsing a potato under the tap. She was tired and had no intention of staying up late. “Nine is thrice three,” she said, wondering where she’d picked up that particular phrase. “The power of your spell will be magnified three times.”’

  “Good thought,” said Diana, nodding seriously. “Nine it is.”

  At nine o’clock, Lucy and the girls met Diana in the backyard, under a starless, moonless sky heavy with clouds. The air was still and misty, but it wasn’t raining. Diana had decided it was too cold and damp to go skyclad, and Lucy was grateful for small favors. Instead, she was wearing an old summer bathrobe of Lucy’s.

  “Blue symbolizes harmony, so I think it will work,” she declared after the girls had ransacked every closet in the house, looking for appropriate garb.

  “It looks fine,” said Sara, who was setting up a card table to serve as an altar. She and Zoe were wearing a couple of Lucy’s long skirts, remnants of the eighties, that they’d found in the back of a closet, and they’d draped themselves with scarves. Lucy hadn’t dressed for the occasion; she was still wearing the jeans and polo shirt she’d worn to work, as well as the polka-dot boots.

  “We need either a black or a white cloth,” said Diana. She was obviously uncomfortable but determined to go through with the ceremony.

  Lucy didn’t have a black tablecloth, but she did have several white ones. Once the table had been covered, Diana carefully arranged her tools: a black candle and a white candle, a bowl of salt and one of water, a sheet of writing paper, the frankincense and onyx stone, and finally her athame.

  “We are ready to begin,” she said, taking a deep breath.

  Lucy and the girls arranged themselves in a semicircle around the altar. Moving cautiously and carefully, Diana spread her legs wide apart, angled her head back, and raised her hands, palms up.

  “Glorious goddess of the moon, I pray your heavenly presence grant me soon. As dark of night gives way to day, hear my plea and grant this boon.”

  Completing the invocation, she lit the candles, then sprinkled nine pinches of salt into the water. “Salt and water mix tonight, this I do with all my might, that dark and evil fade away and only good shall come this way.”

  She then placed the blade of the athame first in the flame of the black candle, then did the same with the white candle. Using the heated blade, she inscribed a diagram on the sheet of paper; then she placed a bit of frankincense on the blade and held it in the flame of the white candle until its scent filled the air. She picked up the onyx stone and passed it through each flame and then through the smoke of the frankincense.

  “Diana, goddess of the moon, hear my plea: Your love and blessings give to me. Take away my fearful sores, that they will trouble me no more. Thus protected I need not fear; peace and love be always near.” Completing her spell, Diana folded the paper into a small square and placed the onyx stone on top. “We will leave the candles to burn for one hour, and then I will place these talismans under my pillow. In the morning, when I wake, the poison ivy will be gone, and I will be protected from those who would do me harm. So mote it be.”

  “So mote it be,” chorused the girls.

  Give me a break, thought Lucy.

  The girls were excited about the spell-casting, and Lucy heard them chattering away when she went upstairs to bed. Bill was still awake, reading Sports Illustrated, and Libby was curled up on the floor beside the bed. She gave Lucy a resentful look, remembering her confinem
ent in the garden shed.

  “Did the spell work?” he asked.

  “Not yet, but Diana’s convinced it will,” said Lucy, pulling her shirt off over her head. “By tomorrow she will be healed.”

  “And then she’ll go home? And take her cat too?” asked Bill.

  “I hope so,” said Lucy. “The reporters are gone, and the spell will also protect her from those who would do her harm, so there’s no reason for her to hang around here,” said Lucy, dropping her nightgown over her head. “So mote it be.”

  “What?” asked Bill.

  “Never mind.” Lucy gave him a kiss and turned on her side, settling down to sleep. In a matter of minutes, she’d drifted off, dreaming of witches on broomsticks, riding through the night, all jumbled up with Ted and deadlines and snow that turned out to be copies of the Pennysaver, drifting down from heaven and catching fire as they fell.

  Waking with a start when someone shook her shoulder, she discovered Diana bending over her in the darkness.

  “Wake up, Lucy,” she was whispering.

  “Whuh?” asked Lucy, still caught in her dream.

  “I need the solution Rebecca gave you,” hissed Diana.

  “What solution?” whispered Lucy. She was gradually waking up and didn’t want to disturb Bill, snoring gently beside her.

  “The stuff Rebecca gave you. I’m sorry to wake you, but this itching is driving me crazy….”

  “It’s okay,” said Lucy, throwing back the covers and getting up. She padded across the room and through the hall into the bathroom, where she’d stored the solution in the medicine cabinet. “Here it is,” she said, heading back to bed.

  “Thanks,” whispered Diana.

  But Lucy was already back in bed, spooning against Bill.

  It was raining hard when Lucy woke the next morning, and Lucy was aware of the steady patter on the roof as she washed her face and brushed her teeth. Diana’s nighttime visit seemed like a dream she hardly remembered, and she was surprised when she went down to the kitchen and discovered Diana was already up and had made a pot of coffee. She was sitting at the table, hidden behind the paper.